


Save The Horse, Ride the Cowboy

by Shippingisfree



Category: The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cowboy Hats, Hippies, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23768650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippingisfree/pseuds/Shippingisfree
Summary: (AU between TV and RL characters)18year old farmer/inn-keeper's niece Michael is nothing but a dreamer. Yet he throws his dreams away, fearing of his family's disapproval and his own failure. A family from north visits them for a holiday in Texas with their sunlike son. He shows Mike how to dream, shamelessly, while he himself comes to terms with his own.
Relationships: Mike Nesmith/Peter Tork
Kudos: 7





	1. Miércoles

**Author's Note:**

> HEAVILY inspired by the Luca Guadagnino film "Call me by your name". That shit is the greatest thing I've seen in my life. Even if this took me two years to write. Enjoy if you can.

“Go to bed now, son. Tomorrow’s gonna be an important day. Our guests are comin’, you haven’t forgotten, now, have you?”  
“How could I possibly, ma. The only thing y’all pondering about all day are those goddamn “Thorkelsons” and you thought I'd forget”  
“Enough fussin’! If you’d listen to your mum and go get some sleep now, we might could get the work done earlier, save some time an' fix a party.” Uncle 'Jack', a man in his fifties with a face of a grumpy old farmer(which he was) cut through Michael’s rant with his own.  
Which didn’t apparently help much.  
“I just don’t get what’s all this complaining about. I talked to them on the phone. Both Mr. and Mrs. Thorkelsons seem to be nice folks. I don’t know about the lad but he ought to be a nice one too, according to his parents.” His lovely mother Betty comforted him for what it seemed like the thousandth time that day. At least she tried.  
“Every parent would say that about their kid.” Mike rather mumbled, before gulping his beer and finally heading to bed. Dramatically. His uncle and mom shook their heads at the adolescent.  
Once he was in his dark bedroom in complete peace and quiet, he got thoughtful about things going on in his life again.  
Aged 18, he should’ve been preparing for college by now. But Michael, knowing perfectly well that his family needed him at the farm, preferred to stay helping his ma and uncle with the farm work and the inn business. He always scoffed at the silly teenage dramas assuming that a kid like him should be daydreaming about the city life all day long and counting days until he finally gets one. No, Michael had been perfectly comfortable with his life in the countryside and couldn’t even imagine any other future than the farm, his ma, his uncle, maybe a loving wife and a couple of brats running around. That was, in his case, the perfect life he had planned for him to live happily ever after. After all, money didn’t matter half as much as personal happiness, he thought. But then again he learned to hide a major part of his identity: the hopeless dreamer with a pride and dignity of Lucifer, a mysterious romantic that overdosed on novels and books, covering it under a moody version of himself, only for the sake of his family…or so he thought. In reality, it was just the easy way out. College, on the other hand, could’ve helped him develop a more intelligent nature, or at least reveal who he was, but as it seemed it was never meant to be. Would he end up giving up the life of a dreamer, marry a nice gal and raise a brood of brats like all good Texas boys should?...  
Mike let out a sigh at the thought, then realizing he was absentmindedly lying in his bed with his book in his hands for almost an hour, he reached out for the blanket and finally dozed off after humming the chorus of “nowhere man” to himself for a little while.


	2. Jueves: First Meeting

As a playful ray of sunshine crept its way through Michael’s eyes, he let them in by slowly parting those gorgeously thick eyelashes of his. Crap. He wasn’t exactly a fan of unnecessarily sunny summer mornings, but this seemed like a good one and Mike was assured by his uncle’s happy singing(with Frak’s and Spotte’s barks as backing vocals) audible from the gardens.  
He washed up and went straight to the kitchen, where his mother was fixing a cup of coffee. Kissing her forehead he head out to uncle Graham to work in the barn. Everyday chores didn't bore him to death. Yet.  
It was late into the afternoon when Mike was combing his mare at the barn when suddenly a lil’ golden retriever appeared above his feet, running aimlessly to get attention.  
“Hey there, little buddy. How did you get here?” Michael bent down to pet the little dog when suddenly a young voice called from afar.  
“Abigail?!”  
The dog jumped from Mike’s arms and rushed towards its owner, jerking its happy tail. Michael stood up and saw a young man appear from the corner of the barn and, dear god, curiosity tickled Mike to the core. From afar, he could see a slim boy with blond bouncy hair. When he found his dog, Mike saw the dimpled smile on his face, one that he would not get enough of later.  
“There you are!” the smile-boy picked up the dog and disappearing behind the corner.  
Lucky that, he didn’t notice Mike, or so he hoped. He grabbed his wide brimmed hat, sprung on his horse and rushed to the porch of the inn in a bit too impatient manner, sending the birds flying.  
Getting off his horse, he greeted everyone who stood there with a cool hand gesture, then took his hat off and moved on to shake Mr. Thorkelson’s hand, and to kiss Mrs. Thorkelson’s. Only after that he approached the blond, who was watching Mike’s glorious show, smiling appreciatively with the dog in his arms. Of course, he noticed a dumbfounded Michael back at the barn, Mike reckoned. Fortunately, Mike was in a far too playful mood today.  
“Hello there, I’m Michael. You can also call me Mike, if you want.” He offered the most flamboyant smile he could give. The dimples were replaces by an earnest expression and an equally serious answer.  
“Pleasure to meet you Mike, I’m Peter. Also known as Peter the Great.”  
Mike was blessed to see those dimples back again. The boy offered his free hand, but instead he bowed in front of him.  
“Well then, I’m all at your service, Tsar.”   
Peter was obviously impressed. Usually anyone who Peter tried this joke on would give him a highly annoyed look, an equally devastated sight and pass it on with “grow up, kid” or even worse calling him ‘foolish’, ‘bird brain’, ‘dummy’ etc. etc. This boy was not only special but an equal enemy.  
“Quit fooling! Help the shotgun to his room.” Uncle Gram smacked the back of Mike’s head in a comical way, everybody laughed a little safe for Mike and the boy. The dark-haired lad huffed in embarrassment as if his own dear uncle had just insulted his dignity in front of his brand new nemesis. The latter on the other hand had a worried look on his face.  
“hurts?” he asked barely audible. Was that pity in his voice?...malice?!...the boy seemed too naïve to humiliate him even further…yes, it was definitely pity.  
Which was worse. Mike was too proudful to tolerate that.  
“No!” clearly sounding offended, he lunged for the heavy suitcases and a backpack, heading to the entrance. He stopped. The boy was still frowning.  
“Coming?” he said a bit nicer. Peter nodded and followed him under the roof of the long house, with west and east wings.  
Their parents simply grinned at the boys’ behavior and shared a few looks before going back to their own business. As they had hoped, their boys of the same age would tolerate each other just fine.   
While following him through the dark narrow hallway, Peter accidentally bumped into the taller man, who stopped before a door very suddenly.  
“Careful, there.” Mike lay the bags on the ground. He snatched the keys out of his jean pocket and handed them to Pete, carrying the bags into the neatly furnished room. As Peter entered, a nice breeze from the backdoor welcomed him. The backdoor(that hardly closed during their stay) with the floating curtains led to a wooden veranda. He took a step further and was welcomed with a spacious view a dozen feet away from him, a wonderful garden with trees and flowers of all kinds.   
‘Breathtaking’ he murmured in a dizzy state, he felt someone else’s presence.  
“True” The taller man leaned against the wooden pillar, as the other boy shifted his position and they both sighted, listening to the calming sounds of the nature: tweeting birds, rustling leaves…   
“You play the banjo.” Mike stated out of nowhere, breaking the peaceful silence between them. “I saw the case.” He gestured to the room behind them with his thumb.  
The blond, whose hair seemed much darker under the shadow, nodded and asked “Do you?”  
Mike shook his head, "not the banjo". He made his way back to the room. The bright boy followed him.   
“So, -- Mike clapped his hands together—everything is here, you know the rules. Make yourself at home. And make sure to be in Cantina in—he checked his wristwatch—in half an hour”. As he was leaving, he heard a voice say in a soft baritone”…but you didn’t tell me where it is.”  
“I’m sure you’ll find it yourself.” He said at the doorway and left.  
Strange lad.


End file.
